


The Direct Approach

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Cliche, First Time, Future Fic, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another wonderfully fun cliche fic: the one-hotel-bed misunderstanding. Jim wonders, Blair equivocates, happiness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Direct Approach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarWatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarWatcher/gifts).



Jim glanced over at Blair's sleeping face. Some hair had escaped from his ponytail and was waving softly in the breeze. The truck window was open just a crack, letting in a narrow stream of chilly air. Blair's mouth was open. Jim dialed up briefly and checked on him; old habit. Pulse sleepy-slow, breathing slow, too. Blair smelled like doughnuts, and coffee, and the dry-cleaning chemicals that had been used on his winter coat. It wasn't quite spring yet, and the heater was on, to keep Blair's feet warm. Picky son of a bitch that he was, he liked warm feet for these winter road trips, yet he also liked a little chilly moving air on his face. Jim had gotten used to the catering.

Jim smiled and returned his attention to the road. It was good that Blair was okay. As they had headed out this morning, Blair had fussed with the radio for a while, proclaimed 20th century _fin de siecle_ commercial radio to be pure unadulterated corporate shit, waxed nostalgic about all the great underground radio there'd been in Cascade when he'd first enrolled at Rainier, paused at his unexpected mention of the university (Jim knew that pause -- like pulling off a scab when you were just trying to scratch your back; ouch), then recovered, bitched Jim out for being too cheap to get a good tape-deck in the truck, bemoaned his own stupidity for forgetting to bring some tapes and his portable player, and then he'd given up and settled in for a nap. This wasn't a long drive, but it was a boring one, over the mountains to the small city/big town where they would be doing a 48-hour favor for Simon.

Jim knew Simon was sick of having him underfoot and that this was an excuse to get him out of the office for a while. He was walking fine again, not limping at all, unless he forgot to concentrate. Zoeller's parting shot had done no permanent damage, but running was still out of the question and he knew he'd lost quite a bit of strength in that leg compared to the other one. Shocking how quickly you could get out of shape when you were in rehab. Jim hated that. Simon was far from one hundred percent either, and still wasn't actually back in charge of Major Crimes, but he couldn't stay away from the office.

_You two'll be doing me a favor," the captain had said. "Nothing's gonna happen when Martin opens his stupid time capsule, but he's all stuck on himself and the importance of the occasion and how his grandfather buried the stuff back when they opened the cannery and how the local law won't give him the time of day, only worried about crowd control and not his personal safety, yada yada." _

Jim rolled his eyes, but he agreed to go and be the body guard du jour, with Blair to back him up. Because he was sick of being underfoot, too. And besides. Sandburg needed something to do these days. Take his mind off... things.

Sandburg was good at acting busy, but really, he wasn't. He was brooding, Jim judged. In fact, they were both struggling, caught in some kind of weird in-between. Sandburg had agreed to attend the academy, and Jim still couldn't really believe that fact. It was out there, in the future. Not quite real. Not even going to the firing range, teaching Blair to shoot, had made it real yet, though that was going well. It was something Jim could help with, even while he'd still been on crutches. Something Sandburg might as well get started on. But it wasn't enough to keep them busy, with Sandburg's academic life now completely fucked up, and Jim's regular duties on hold until his leg healed. So this trip was a good diversion. It was an assignment, something real, something they both could do, even though it wasn't official business, and above all, it got them a change of scenery.

Jim glanced at his sleeping partner again, and smiled at the road.

As he'd figured, when they arrived, the city fathers of Rhinehart, Washington, were obsequious and cooperative. Simon's college buddy Martin Kidd was the apex of their A List, and the centenary of the Kidd family factory was also the centenary of the county and there were lots of festivities under way. All would be capped by the opening of the Kidd Time Capsule on the Rhinehart Square at noon the following day. They would be needed at the black tie party, that night, and to follow Kidd around at the square on the morrow. Everything was supposed to be wrapped up by around three in the afternoon. Piece of cake.

They escaped from Kidd's assistant after getting directions to the ballroom for later. Blair had had another one of those sudden silences when Jim introduced him as his partner. But as they drove around looking for a restaurant for dinner, Blair was chatty. Too chatty. Chatter covering something. Jim wondered what. Jim realized he'd been in the habit, for years, of calling Blair his associate, or just using his name with no explanation of who he was, and Jim kicked himself, again, for his lack of sensitivity. Words were important to Blair, and apparently important to Jim, too. Because today, when he'd called Blair his partner, it had _meant_ something. Something different. It marked the change that Jim had not been able to mark in any other way. They weren't working together in the old way -- observer and officer, though they were still certainly guide and sentinel. A big chunk of Blair's identity had dropped away. And Jim wasn't quite sure how to talk about that, or about the word to use to describe what Blair was now. In fact, there wasn't a lot he was sure of, really. But he didn't like giving Blair those "aha" moments without warning. And when had he gotten so sensitive to what Blair was thinking? Well. Jim knew exactly. It was the day he'd turned to watch the noon news and then had to stand there, helpless, as Blair threw himself on a grenade.

"Feel like Mexican?" Blair said, pointing ahead.

Jim grunted and steered the truck in and parked. Mexican was usually a safe bet when you were on the road. As a food group, it was hard to screw up, and these Tex Mex chains weren't too bad. He watched Blair bobbing beside him as they went up the sidewalk, and he held the door for Blair. That got him a blue frown.

They were seated, they ordered. The silence between them was comfortable; a backwater of quiet in the crowd noise. Jim watched Blair, really watched him. Blair, as always, was enjoying his surroundings. He enjoyed seeing people, watching them do whatever people did. Every new place was a subculture to Blair. Jim glanced around, trying to see the place the way Blair did. He dialed hearing down a little further. The restaurant was packed. A lot of tourists had come to town for the 100th anniversary stuff. Things were bustling in Rhinehart.

Being out of town, on the road, among strangers, was strangely freeing. It gave Jim a sense of possibility that resembled adventure. It was like being on vacation, somehow. He noted, again his uncertainty. He was sure Blair felt it, too.

Blair caught Jim looking at him, and he turned his head to one side, giving Jim his jaw -- not quite a double-take, but a head-shake that meant, "What's up?"

Jim looked down, suppressing a smile. It was one of Blair's most endearing, sexiest mannerisms. Jim looked up again. Vacation mood, definitely. The waiter brought them their drinks and Jim poured his beer and raised his glass.

"Cheers," Blair said, automatically. "What's up, man."

"What's that word -- the in-between space? Not this, not that?"

"Um, you don't mean "liminal." "

"That was it." Jim leaned back, contented. "That's where we are right now. In that kind of space."

Blair smiled at him, really lit up. "You amaze me, you know that. You really do."

Jim said nothing, just stared down his partner over the rim of his glass, feigning indifference to the compliment. Blair chuckled to himself until their dinner was served.

Jim enjoyed having put the smile on Blair's face, and decided maybe they were going to get through this. That all debts had been paid, that Blair had forgiven him for fucking up his career. For Jim's part, any resentment he'd harbored had been washed out of him in a white-hot blast of television lights. He watched Blair eat, and found himself deciding to go for broke. In the last few weeks, all his comfortable habits for dealing with the Sandburg he knew, the guy who was his guide, his roommate, his researcher, all those habits had been jettisoned. The rulebook was officially out the window. So much had changed between them, so...

"Listen. Romeo." Blair looked up at him, questioning, still happy with the word Jim had made him think of. Jim glanced around their booth as if searching for inspiration. Then his eyes locked back on to Blair's. "Has the train wreck that is your love life ever involved men?"

Blair just about spit out his Blue Sky cola. He did choke on it a little. Jim had a moment of worry, then went back to patient, as he waited for Blair to answer. Blair put down his fork. When he could speak, he said, _"What?"_

"You heard me. Have you ever been interested in men like you'd ordinarily be interested in women? I should say, like you're normally, constantly, always, interested in women?"

"Do you think I'm gay? Do I put off a gay vibe or something?"

Jim forked up, chewed and swallowed a bite of his Juarez Combo Platter, without hurry, before answering. "No, I'm not asking if you're gay. You know better than to jump to conclusions like that." He stabbed at the air between them with his fork, a parody of threat. "Just answer the question, Sandburg."

"Why are you asking?"

"I'll tell you. But you have to answer me first."

Blair stared at Jim. Jim stared back. "No. I've never been interested in men the way I'm interested in women."

Jim nodded and drank a sip of his beer. Sandburg was lying. His heart rate had spiked and he had started to sweat.

Blair said, "Now tell me why you asked. I answered you; so tell me."

"I've changed my mind." Jim held Blair's glare for a moment and then said, in the same neutral tone of voice, daring Blair to change the subject back: "So what are the chances of Will coming off this sprained ankle? The Jags can't make the playoffs without him."

Blair continued to glare. He couldn't abide the silence, though. He had to relent. Besides, basketball. It was important. They talked about basketball until the waiter brought the check. Jim was grateful for the overwhelming importance of basketball. It gave him time to try to figure out why Blair had lied.

Outside, the evening was cold and damp, hemmed in by clouds. It seemed that the saturated air would extrude fog at any minute. The halos around the street lights glowed. They looked like dandelion puffs. Jim and Blair got in Jim's truck and headed for their hotel.

When they pushed their way into their room, Jim just about ran into Blair because he'd stopped right in the door, peering past the closet and the sink alcove.

"Chief, brake lights," Jim snapped, shifting the garment bag and the suitcase in his grip. Blair acted like he hadn't heard him, and he went on in the room and set down his own bags. Jim followed him, looking around.

"I'll go back to the front desk and see if we can get our actual room. This is clearly a screw-up," Blair said quietly, but Jim frowned because he could hear the tension in his voice. He paused a second to amplify his hearing, and yeah, Blair's heart was hammering again. What was the problem? He looked at Blair, and Blair was looking at the bed. The solitary double bed. In what was supposed to have been a double room.

The words "It's not a problem," died on Jim's lips, because Blair had darted out. Well, apparently Jim had hit a nerve with his blunt question over dinner.

Jim shook his head and started opening his bags. He picked up Blair's tux, in its garment bag, from where he had dumped it on the floor, and hung it up. If he was quick, which he always was, he'd be done at the sink by the time Blair came back. He didn't figure there was much point in trying to change their room, as crowded as the town was tonight. He was sure Blair would come back defeated. Why that made a flicker of anticipation at the one-bed-development go to war with a sad feeling of resignation in his chest, he didn't stop to analyze. He dug out his razor and his toothbrush and tried not to notice that Blair was even more tense when he came back.

~~~

Back at their hotel, once again, in that cold, stuffy, air-conditioned quiet that big hotels acquire late at night. Jim let them in their room this time, pulling the key card out of his tux's breast pocket. Blair trailed him, almost reluctant to enter, it seemed.

The assignment had been exactly as advertised. Painlessly boring. Four hours of watching a roomful of ordinary people having an out-of-the-ordinary evening in their home town. The best part had been the buffet. Kidd had barely made time to speak to them, and the check that his assistant had pressed into Jim's hand at the end would buy Sandburg and six of his closest friends a nice dinner somewhere in downtown Cascade. Simon had been right. Their presence was a sop to Kidd's ego; nothing more. If they hadn't been working, Jim would have let himself wonder why Blair was so quiet all evening. He didn't chat up any of the babes in evening gowns, though as a rule Blair was as flirtatious as any guy Jim had ever met. But he'd been quiet all night, and had stuck to Jim's back like the partner he, in truth, was.

Jim let them in to their room, and he went to the closet and began taking apart his formal wear and hanging it up, glancing surreptitiously at Blair as he did the same. Still too quiet. His back to Jim, fiddling with his shirt studs, Blair said, "Sorry about the room, man."

"Like it was your fault."

"If it's a problem for you I can sleep on the floor or something."

"Don't be stupid, Sandburg... If _what's_ a problem for me?"

"I just, you know, the bed's only a queen, and --" Sandburg cut himself off and shook his head. He pulled his shirt off and went to the sink. Jim watched the line of his spine, his muscled upper arms in the harsh light. He avoided meeting Sandburg's eyes in the mirror.

Jim demanded, without anger, "And, what, I'll feel every pea under the mattress? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

Sandburg stripped to his underwear, took his hair down, brushed his teeth and crawled into bed. He'd left parts of his tux on the counter, and Jim had to hang the tie and the cummerbund up for him before he could use the sink himself. _Slob,_ Jim thought fondly.

So here they were, in an ordinary mid-grade hotel room five hours from home, sacking out in the same bed. Jim looked at the back of Sandburg's head and thought about it. If things were different, this would be romantic, but, well, things weren't different, were they. Jim closed his eyes and let himself absorb Sandburg's scent. It was rare to be this close and this relaxed. Sandburg touched him all the time when they were working on a case, but in those circumstances he didn't have the luxury of zooming in on his guide. And now he did.

So he focused on smell, and picked apart what he was taking in, like a guilty pleasure. Soap, and toothpaste and second-hand smoke. Mustard and garlic and deodorant and sweat. Then, since he could, and since no one would ever find out, he dove a little deeper into the smells of Sandburg's body, focusing on the different notes in the sweat, and the spicy scent of Sandburg's his skin, just Sandburg, under the soap, under the hair conditioner and shampoo. It was as good as touching, almost. Not quite, but almost. He inhaled his partner, and closed his eyes and tried to settle down to sleep.

Sandburg slapped his pillow. "Jim. Uh, I'm, I'm really going around and around about why you asked me if I'm ever interested in guys. In, uh, dating guys. If this is some kind of potential problem here, you'd better tell me now."

Jim came fully awake again, and checked Blair's heart. It was hammering again, and his sweat had acquired a tang of fear.

"Look. Blair. You should know by now that when you lie to me, I can tell. I know you lied to me over dinner about that, and it's fine. It's none of my business."

"Tell me why you asked me, Jim. Setting aside for the moment the unbelievable rudeness of you eavesdropping on me like a human lie-detector, though god knows I suppose I should be used to it by now, and you've probably done it all along and how would I know anyway, but if this is going to be one more way I can fuck up our friendship, you'd better tell me." He stuttered, just a bit, over the word "friendship." Somehow that was a prick at Jim's heart.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a minute, Speedy." Jim couldn't help it; he reached out in the half-dark and touched Blair's shoulder. Pulled on it, and got him to turn over and meet Jim's eyes. Blair was frowning, and this conversation was not one he was going to be able to have lying still, because he sat up, leaned his back against the wall, and folded his arms. Blair's skin felt so good under Jim's hand that he left his hand there, on Blair's forearm. They were so close, it seemed reasonable.

"Jim, after everything that's happened, and everything that we'll be into once I become a detective, there's not a whole hell of a lot about out lives that's gonna be none of your business, now, is there?" Blair turned away and stared into space for a moment, visibly steeling himself, and then met Jim's eyes again. "I should have told you this long ago, all right? But if it's going to be a problem for our partnership that I do occasionally-- that I have been known to-- that I swing both ways, all right? Then we better cancel this deal right now." Blair rolled his eyes and appealed to the ceiling. "Fucking ironic that this would be the deal breaker. After everything else that's hit the fan."

Jim didn't know what to say. But he had to say something. Because Blair was upset for nothing. He squeezed Blair's arm. "It's not a deal breaker, Chief. We live in Cascade, not, not Texas. Right? You already know a half dozen gay cops."

Blair looked at him. "It's not a deal breaker for the department, Jim. I know that; I know they're fairly progressive on that score. But what if it's a deal breaker for you?"

Jim's turn to get upset. He noted, distantly, the way his heart rate speeded up, the way his blood began to sing in his ears. "So all this time," he said, and his voice was soft, and he tightened his hand on Blair's arm, "you've been sticking to dating women because you thought it might piss _me_ off if you got interested in a guy?"

"In a word, yeah."

"I come across as that big of a homophobic asshole, huh, Sandburg?"

"Well, no, I mean, it was just --" Sandburg sputtered. Jim grinned. He didn't often succeed in pushing Sandburg to a point where he was at a loss for words. But, it wasn't fair that Jim was enjoying this so much. Blair recovered his customary eloquence. "One makes certain assumptions about the cultures one encounters, and frankly, since we met, I haven't seen any evidence to violate the initial assumptions I went in with about you. A lot of guys in your situation are pretty militant about their hetero-normativity, okay?"

"Whoa, how many syllables was that? Hetero -- what? And, really, tisk, tisk, Sandburg. Falling for the stereotypes again. What would Sydney say."

"Fuck Sydney," Blair said, and he ran a hand through his hair and started to get out of bed. Too late, Jim realized that bringing up anyone connected with Blair's former career had probably been a tactical error.

"Sandburg. Blair," he said, and pulled on his arm and Blair quit trying to escape, and looked at him again. His face was closed down. He looked grim. Jim didn't know what to say. He really didn't know what to say. But this was a _moment,_ and he knew it was, like the moment in the hospital when he was finally able to convey to Blair, when it counted, when he meant it, when Blair needed to hear it, what their partnership was to Jim. _Don't be an asshole,_ he told himself. And, aloud: "Remember Veronica Archer?"

Blair frowned at the non sequitur. "Of course I remember Veronica Archer. What has that got to do with anything?"

"Well. Everything that happened with her was bad, but I didn't tell you that what made it even worse was that, it wasn't just about her and me." Jim spoke slowly, watching and listening carefully. "See, we were both involved with Allan. On top of everything else that I fucked up about that case, I fucked up that, too. Completely."

"Jesus, Jim." Blair was shocked out of his own contemplations by this revelation. His lips parted, and Jim could see the moment of shock, then see the wheels turning as Blair adjusted what he knew, and what he'd assumed, about Jim -- back through all the time they'd been together, case by case, woman by woman, year by year.

Jim went on, doggedly, "See, before we knew each other very well, there was no reason to get into that. And anyway, even if... I knew you had rules about getting involved with research subjects, and we worked together, and you never. Anyway." Jim ran out of words. He looked at his hand on Blair's arm. He felt the skin under his hand, smooth, blanketed with soft, invisible hair. Warm. Alive. There was silence.

Blair was looking at him now with unvarnished astonishment. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes were big. He looked silly. He looked rumpled and young and adorable. Jim had nothing more to say. He just watched. Blair seemed to become aware that Jim was lying there touching him, that they were in bed, that they were having one of the most private, even intimate, conversations they'd ever had. He licked his lips.

"Even if what, Jim? Let's go back to my original question, shall we? Why did you ask me if I ever dated men?"

Well, that was about as direct as you could get, wasn't it. As direct as Jim had been over dinner. Jim looked Blair in the eye and slowly sat up and put his other hand on Blair's shoulder and leaned in.

"Because of this." And, watching Blair all the way, he leaned in some more, until their lips met.

The kiss went on for a while, and Jim didn't push it, and Blair didn't either. No tongues, no wrestling, no grappling for more, but heat bloomed in Jim's belly and rushed along his legs, and he sat as still as he could, like he was fearful of startling Blair away again. He kissed Blair, and he put his heart into it, but he was still, as if he was waiting for game, or searching the horizon, risking a zone and needing to put everything he had into just one sense. In fact, he had to leave his eyes open, fearful of zoning over the press of Blair's lips on his, touch even overwhelming taste at that point.

It was shocking, and soft, and warm, and perfect: Blair's mouth on his. But scent helped him, too -- Blair's scent got rich and sweet again. And taste -- Blair tasted like toothpaste and wine. Jim opened his mouth, just a little, so that he could taste Blair better. Blair's heartbeat spiked and then settled at a higher, happier rate. He moved his mouth against Jim's. Finally, Jim leaned back.

"Oh," Blair said. He looked at Jim a minute, his expression stunned and pleased, and then put a hand to Jim's cheek. "So the one double-bed thing isn't a problem, then."

"Nope," Jim said. Blair smiled.

~~~

Much later, in a cloud of pheromones, sweat, come, and warmth, Blair spoke sleepily. His head was at rest on Jim's shoulder, and Jim was half-zoned on his heartbeat. "So, what. We had to get out of town to do this?"

"Apparently."

"No, tell me. Why now? You were serious? Your hanging back all this time was all about your concerns for MY rules about objectivity regarding research subjects?"

"Sure." There was a whole lot more to it than that, but Jim wasn't up for some kind of personal testimony about denial and fear and wanting things he was sure he wasn't ever going to deserve. And so forth. Not yet, anyway. Not tonight. Blair stirred, and got onto his back, his head still on Jim's shoulder, and smoothed his hair away from his face. It tickled Jim's armpit, but Jim didn't flinch.

Blair was thinking out loud. "I know the department is gay-friendly, but aren't there pretty strict rules about, uh, partners being in the field together? Is that the right word?"

Jim wasn't up for a semantics discussion either, but he could address Blair's main point. "You don't think most of the guys don't already think we're doing this?"

"Well, now that you mention it...." Blair snuggled a little closer against his side, and Jim brought his free hand around and rested it on Blair's chest. Like it belonged there. Which it did.

~~~

They didn't need the tuxes the next day; just topcoats and jackets and dress slacks. Jim admired Blair's new trendy sunglasses, and the way his mouth was so red and kissed-looking. When the city fathers of Rhinehart opened the time capsule, all it had in it was a can of dog food, and a can of beans. Nothing else.

They had a good laugh about it -- out of earshot of Martin Kidd, of course. Blair noticed Jim limping, and bitched him out about being on his feet too long at a stretch. Then the party in the park was over, and they went on back to Cascade. And it all felt different, and it all felt the same.

"Liminal," Jim thought, looking at Blair's relaxed profile, as he drove, over the mountains, toward home.

end


End file.
